After She's Gone

by Lisa Jackson

  She was offered a bored expression and a single raised skeptical eyebrow. “That’s not what she told me. Or like anyone else here.” Then, with a word to another girl, the receptionist grudgingly guided Cassie through a frosted glass door and down a tiled hallway lit by sconces. Soft Asian-inspired music played from hidden speakers and the scents of lavender and eucalyptus seeped into the hallway from double doors leading to the day spa.

  Around a final corner the hallway opened into a brightly lit area designated for hair stylists. Along one wall were individual stations, separated by half walls, each with a chair, sink, mirror, and private closet.

  Verna’s space was on the end of a row of eight stylists. “Laura said to take good care of you,” she said as Cassie dropped into the chair and yanked the band out of her hair before shaking it loose.

  Tall and thin, with an asymmetrical hairstyle in multiple shades of brown and blond, a nose ring, and a tattoo climbing up one arm, Verna eyed Cassie’s hair. “Just a trim?” Obviously she thought a lot more work was in order. Her eyes met Cassie’s in the mirror and she physically started. “Wait a second, you’re Allie Kramer’s sister, aren’t you? How could I not put two and two together? You really look like your mom.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry . . . really sorry about your sister, I mean.” She shook her head and reached for a comb. “I don’t suppose anyone has any idea . . . ?” She left the sentence unfinished as if she were unsure how much she could ask.

  “No,” Cassie said, not wanting to go into it with a virtual stranger. Besides, she was on edge, well, more on edge than usual, especially with Trent in her house. The thought of him hanging out in her apartment without her bothered her and she mentally kicked herself again for handing over her key so readily.

  “Bummer.” Verna was already touching Cassie’s hair, pulling it away from her head, testing it as an assistant came by with the offer of drinks, everything from herbal tea to regular coffee and cucumber water.

  Cassie declined. She’d just come here for information, but it seemed her idea had been foolish.

  “You know, I think some red streaks would be cool,” Verna was saying. “Nothing too noticeable. Maybe a deep burgundy or an auburn with a kick would brighten this up. Be nice on you. Kind of contempo.”

  “Just a trim.” Her hair wasn’t the issue.

  “Okay,” Verna agreed with a smile as she met Cassie’s gaze in the mirror again. “You’re the boss.”

  This was turning out to be a big waste of time. Verna knew nothing. Of course. In the end, Cassie ended up with slightly shorter hair and a lot less cash in her wallet, but she hadn’t found out anything about her sister.

  Once again, a dead end, she thought as she found her way out of the building and slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose. What had she really thought she’d accomplish? She didn’t know the first thing about locating a missing person. She should just leave Allie’s disappearance to the police. Let the professionals handle it.

  And who are they considering their number one suspect in her disappearance? You.

  As she reached her Honda, a BMW tore into the lot, wheeled into one of the few open spaces, and in a chirp of tires stopped short. The driver’s door flew out and Laura Merrick, blond hair streaming behind her, oversize sunglasses covering her eyes, practically leaped from the car. “Oh, God, Cassie! I thought I might still catch you,” she said breathlessly. “I mean I was hoping. Did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” Cassie asked, instantly panicked. Allie! Oh no. It’s Allie. Something awful has happened!

  “About Holly Dennison.”

  “Holly? No . . . I just saw her.”

  A pause. “When?”

  “The other night.”

  “Not last night?”

  Cassie shook her head. “What?”

  Laura took in a breath, then said, “She’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Cassie said, her insides going cold. Holly? Bubbly, full-of-life, Moscow-Mule-pushing Holly? “No.”

  “It’s true. I just heard,” Laura said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Then you must’ve heard wrong.” But the expression on Laura’s face said it was true. Cassie went from denial to despair. Could it be? She felt the blood draining from her face and the warm sun beating against the back of her neck.

  “Her body was found this morning. Outside a bar in . . . in, oh, God, I can’t remember, no . . . somewhere in Venice, I think. It . . . it doesn’t matter.” Laura ran her hands through her hair. “I need a cigarette.” She looked pointedly at Cassie.

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Really?”

  “Never smoked.”

  “Figures. Well, come on, Verna or maybe Alana might.” She saw that a couple of potential customers had stopped to listen to their excited conversation, and she grabbed Cassie by the arm. “No reason to make a scene.” Quickly, she propelled Cassie back through the shop, stopped at Verna’s station where, after a quick exchange, she was handed a French cigarette, then she hurried them both through a supply area and break room with a coffeepot and mini fridge to a small outdoor space facing an alley.

  A few plastic chairs were scattered around a white table with a faded umbrella. In the table’s center was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and some gum wrappers. Laura scooped up the ashtray and poured its contents into a nearby trash can. Then she lit up the Gauloise, drew deep, and tossed back her head to exhale the smoke toward the sky. “Better,” she sighed.

  Still in shock, Cassie asked, “How do you know about Holly?”

  “Internet.” She wrapped one arm around her waist and held the cigarette near her face with the other. “She was only found this morning. Google it.” Another deep drag. Cassie started typing Holly’s name into her phone and Laura added, “Little Bea called me when she heard, too.”

  “I thought she was out of the country.”

  Laura shook her head. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Holly.”

  “Don’t think so. She had an appointment with me, what? Like two days ago, I think.” Another deep drag and after dusting the seat of a chair with her hand she flopped into it. The umbrella shaded half of her face and reminded Cassie of one of Jenna’s old movie posters, one she’d hung up in her bedroom where part of her face was in darkness, the other pale.

  “Holly told me you said she was in London.” Cassie looked down at the screen on her phone where she’d Googled information on Holly Dennison.

  “Little Bea and Cherise were in London. They came back a week or so ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust Holly to get it wrong,” she said, and then caught herself up as if she’d realized the woman was gone. “Did you find it?” Laura asked.

  Cassie looked down at her phone again where a picture of Holly filled the small screen. The back of her mouth went dry. Scrolling down she read the headline: Set Designer’s Body Discovered. She skimmed the scanty details, heart racing. A man frequenting a bar in Venice had found the woman, who was identified as Holly Marie Dennison, a set designer, in a parking lot. Several of the movies she worked on were mentioned, including the last, Dead Heat. The police had limited details but the death was being investigated as a homicide. Anyone with any knowledge should contact them immediately.

  Cassie sank into one of the chairs. Sadness enveloped her as she remembered Holly’s quick smile and recently spiked hair, how she’d sipped her mojitos at The Sundowner. “I can’t believe it.” She was stunned.

  Calmer now, Laura suddenly looked at her cigarette as if it were the devil incarnate and angrily jabbed it out in the ashtray. “She has . . . had a sister who lived in town. That was her next of kin, I guess, so her name was released and these days, everything, all news is instantaneous.” She let out her breath, then looked at Cassie. “I didn’t mean to shock you, but I thought you’d want to know and since I knew you were coming here . . .”

  “I do. Did.” She was still in shock. “God, it’s hard
to believe.”

  “Look, I’m glad I caught you, but I have an appointment in like . . .” She glanced down at her phone for the time. “Five minutes ago.”

  “I just wanted to talk to you. I really didn’t need a haircut.”

  Laura frowned. “About . . . Allie?” she guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know anything, Cassie. That’s what I already told the police.”

  “I know. But you were Allie’s friend as well as makeup artist. She spent hours with you daily, especially when Dead Heat was filming. I thought you, of all of her friends, might have some idea of what she was going through. What was happening in her life. Why she didn’t show up for the last day of the reshoot of the movie.”

  “I have no idea. We talked, sure. But just about normal, everyday stuff. Nothing deep, trust me. It wasn’t like I was her shrink or anything.”

  Cassie pushed, “But everyone talks to their hairdresser because of all those hours in the chair.” When Laura didn’t respond, Cassie added, “Look, of course you’re not her shrink, but maybe her confidante? It’s what we all do. People are always talking to, or even dating, sometimes marrying, the person who does their hair and makeup, especially in this business.”

  “We weren’t dating,” Laura said with a glimmer of humor.

  “But you knew who she hung out with. Who she was seeing.”

  “Other than Brandon?” Laura shrugged. “He’s the last one she was really involved with. It made things kind of awkward on the set.”

  Not exactly news. Cassie had been there. “So what was she thinking before she disappeared? Was she depressed? Anxious? Did you think there was any reason she would take off? Anyone she was scared of?”

  “Cassie, what do you want from me? If I knew anything about Allie, I’d tell the police or you or Jenna.”

  “Mom?” That surprised Cassie.

  “Mothers always worry. So, of course I’d let her know.” She shifted in her chair, as if suddenly uncomfortable.

  “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “I don’t, not really, but Allie introduced me once, on the set. It was obvious that she really cared about her kids.”

  That much was true. And it was obvious that she and Allie shared enough of a bond for Allie to feel comfortable enough to introduce Jenna to her. Cassie tried again. “Are you sure Allie didn’t say anything to you about what was going on in her life?”

  Laura checked the time on her phone once more. She seemed to wrestle with her conscience then said, “Oh, hell. Look, I really don’t know much . . .” Again she hesitated, then through the dark glasses her gaze found Cassie’s and her voice was almost a whisper. “What I do know, you’re not going to like.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about you, Cassie.” For a second, Laura looked away. “She . . . she was jealous of you.”

  “Jealous of me?” Cassie barked out a short laugh. “Sure.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Allie was successful. On top of the world.”

  “Was she?” Serious.

  “Of course she was. She had her pick of movie roles.”

  Laura let out a sigh. “It wasn’t about her work.”

  “What then? Why would she be jealous of me?” The idea was ludicrous. Allie had always been the baby of the family and as such, both Cassie and Jenna had protected her in their ways and Robert had coddled her. Allie had shined in school and then later in the same profession where she competed with Cassie, always, always crushing her older sister in any audition.

  “There’s always been some kind of competition between you two, hasn’t there?”

  “But she always came out on top. Always.”

  “I guess it depends upon what you’re vying for.” Laura seemed to become philosophical, her thoughts turned inward. “It happens in every family. My family.”

  “You have sisters and brothers?”

  “Not anymore. I had a sister, but . . . she passed years ago. Freak car accident.” She let out a sigh. “I survived. Felt guilty ever since.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, though she turned a little pensive. “It was a long time ago. But I remember sibling rivalry.” She shot Cassie a look. “It’s never any fun.”

  “No, but Allie and I . . .”

  “I just think Allie always wanted what you had.”

  “But I didn’t have anything . . .” Cassie’s voice faded away slowly. Trent. Allie had never been married. Never come close. Never engaged. A handful of quasi-serious boyfriends, none of which had connected with her until after she’d made her mark in Hollywood, but no one who’d ever wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Laura got to her feet. “You asked. If you don’t believe me, talk to Cherise. She was the one who knew her best, who scheduled her appointments, who knew what Allie was doing, who probably even covered for her.”

  “Cherise hasn’t returned my calls. I think she doesn’t want to talk to me. Holly said she’s working for Brandon McNary.”

  “Yeah, I think I heard that, too . . . maybe from Little Bea. I can’t remember, but hey, I really have to go. I can’t help you with Allie.” She was already walking through the doorway into the back of the salon. “I have no idea what happened to her.”

  Join the club, Cassie thought as she followed a step behind.

  She made her way through the salon to the front of the shop and eventually to her car. After climbing inside and starting the engine she sat for a second and thought about Holly and how hard it was to believe she was dead. Murdered. Who would want to take her life? Granted, Cassie didn’t know a lot about Holly, only that she had a sister, a niece she adored, and a brother-in-law she didn’t like. She’d always been looking for Mr. Right and had never found him, though she’d never given up hope.

  It seemed strange, more than coincidental, that three people who had worked on Dead Heat had suffered tragedies recently. Not only had Allie gone missing and Lucinda been shot, but now Holly, vital, fun-loving Holly was dead.

  How odd was that? More than odd, it was eerie. And sad. Fear crawled up her spine as she headed back to her apartment.

  And Trent, she reminded herself.

  He complicated things.

  And confused things.

  Somehow she had to convince him and maybe herself that their relationship was over. She should call her attorney, have him dust off her divorce papers, sign them, and be done with it. Why was she just hanging on to a marriage that was dead, had already died a horrible death on the altar of adultery?

  With her own younger sister. No, make that younger, more beautiful and more talented and much more famous younger sister.

  Could the scenario get any more cliché? Sometimes she felt as if she were in some kind of soap opera.

  The old pain twisted deep in her heart.

  Somehow, she’d have to get over it.

  Jamming her Honda into gear, she drove toward home, dust covering her windshield, sunlight bouncing off the hood of her car. Traffic was heavy and slow. She was tucked behind a behemoth of a vehicle, some old Chevrolet, a pristine two-toned model from the middle of the last century, buffed and waxed so that it gleamed, as the male driver in a little cap tore up the road a good five miles under the speed limit.

  Annoyed at the pace, Cassie was already checking her mirrors, just about to pass when her phone jangled. She fished in her purse, plucked out her cell, saw Cherise’s name on the display and, risking a ticket, hit the button to answer.

  “Cassie?” Cherise said, before Cassie could say a word. “Oh my God, I just heard about Holly. It’s awful. Awful!” She sounded breathless as she echoed Cassie’s feelings.

  “Horrible. I’d like to—”

  “Laura just called me and told me you were trying to reach me,” she interrupted. “She said you thought I’d blown you off because I took a job with Brandon, but . . . oh, this is so,
so horrible. I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “I know, I know, it’s like the movie’s cursed or something. I mean what else could go wrong?”

  Cassie shuddered to think.

  “Look, if you want to talk to me, okay, I can meet you in half an hour, then I have to be someplace, but I don’t know what I can tell you. Laura said you were trying to figure out what happened to Allie and I swear to God, I don’t have any idea, and so please, please, please don’t be mad at me for going to work with Brandon. I know he’s not your favorite person but with Allie gone I needed a job and—”

  “Cherise,” Cassie cut in. “Tell me where to meet and I’ll be there.” Cassie explained where she was and Cherise suggested a coffee shop about fifteen minutes away, closer to Cassie’s apartment. “Perfect. I’ll meet you there.” For the briefest of seconds, she considered calling Trent to tell him she’d been held up, but discarded the idea immediately.

  She’d only seen him for a few minutes, long enough to have an argument, and already she was acting like a wife, like she needed to report in. “Forget it,” she muttered under her breath. At the next opportunity, she shot past the guy in the red and white Chevy straight out of the fifties.

  She reached the coffee shop a few minutes before Cherise. Standing in line to order and scouting the crowded seating area in search of a free table, she spied the other woman driving into the lot. Cell phone pressed to her ear, Cherise wheeled into the lot in a champagne-colored Mercedes convertible. Parking spaces were at a premium and she had to wait until another car had backed up, then she squeezed into a slim space, beating another car coming from the other direction. The Mitsubishi’s blinker indicated that the driver had intended to claim the spot, but Cherise didn’t appear to care or even notice.

  Brown hair twisted onto her head in a messy bun, Cherise flew out of her car. In shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt that slid over one shoulder, she was still talking on the phone and seemed oblivious to the other driver’s frustration as she jogged to the front doors.

  By the time she burst inside Cassie was at the front of the line and ready to order. Cherise looked around the busy shop, then racewalked past four other customers. “Grab me a triple shot Americano, okay?” Before Cassie could answer, she added, “I’ll get a table. God, this place is always sooo busy. Oh! There’s one now!” She was off, ignoring the scowls and glares from the people standing in line and hurrying toward a café table being vacated by a couple of teenagers wearing watch caps, army jackets, and shorts while hauling their beat-up skateboards and coffee drinks outside.